


Innocence of Silence

by Winddrag0n



Series: Deadmeat [5]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Brief Gore, Face-Fucking, Gift Giving, Hand Jobs, M/M, Murder, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, attempted rape of a minor character, it gets literally nowhere but it does exist, romantic dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 12:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22710601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winddrag0n/pseuds/Winddrag0n
Summary: Hannibal had stashed the box holding the knife in a drawer, from which he now extracts it and hands it to Will. The smile Will gives him is crooked. He opens the box gently, eyes widening and then softening at the knife within, pulling it out and flipping it open. His admiration is obvious, and all doubts Hannibal retained about the gift are blown away.Until, that is, Will’s expression cracks and he starts laughing.-An exchanging of gifts; one planned, and one spontaneous.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Deadmeat [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514474
Comments: 11
Kudos: 176





	Innocence of Silence

**Author's Note:**

> I could write a short essay about the process that led to this fic, but instead I'll just say this- I wanted to do something for Valentine's Day, and I was also impatient to get to a certain point in their dynamic. Those separate ideas sort of... fused together, into this.

Hannibal had expected the request, anticipated it, even. A private room that only Will will have the key to. The man had made it more than obvious that this went both ways, and if there were areas Hannibal wanted for himself alone, that desire for privacy would be respected. Hannibal did not need privacy, not from Will- he remembers their many conversations, on honesty and no longer hiding, and simply tells Will as much. He shrugs, but he’s smiling.

The room Will chooses is in the far corner of the house, almost exactly opposite their bedroom. It is large and framed in equally large windows. Hannibal remembers many more conversations, on trust, and does not try to peek in when Will is locked inside. It allows him to leave the curtains open and enjoy the morning sun. When he is not inside, the curtains are drawn.

Whatever he is doing inside the room- and make no mistake, Hannibal is terribly curious- he works mostly when Hannibal is not at home. From the sound there are machines inside, something Will must have lugged in himself. Hannibal would have been more than happy to offer his assistance but Will seems adamant that his actions remain shrouded in secrecy. Instead of offering, Hannibal helps work the knots out of his shoulder when he tweaks it from moving the heavy objects around. The scents of sawdust and oil, he does his best not to dwell on.

It is surprisingly easy to quell the voice at the back of his mind, the one telling him that Will may yet betray him. _Is that not the danger?_ the voice whispers. _The ease of it?_

_Oh, fuck off,_ another voice replies, this one far more familiar and far more welcome. For now, the voice falls silent.

Hannibal has secrets of his own, though they are far more innocent than would previously be expected of him. He keeps it locked in the glovebox of his car- a crude solution, but a functional one. The knife turned out beautifully; the handle is a deep, rich red, from a particularly vibrant piece of Burmese rosewood he had chosen himself. For the blade, a modern reproduction of damascus steel, handmade and of the highest quality. It folds into the handle smoothly and locks into place without any sign of a wobble. On the base of the blade, etched near the top, rests _WG._

The idea of gifting Will a knife is risky. While the man does always carry one and uses it often when he works at the harbor, Hannibal is more than aware of the… implications that come with the gift. In the end, he had finally gotten a good enough look at the ancient and battered thing that Will uses that he simply decided he deserved a new one.

It is entirely possible that the man will react strangely to _any_ sort of gift, all things considered. He had long since accepted that he will never be able to predict Will, in any fashion.

The day starts normally. Will works, and Hannibal does not. He had planned it this way- while Will is at the harbor he has all the time he needs to cook. For once in his life, the meal is secondary, his mind locked further on in the night, to what happens after. That does not mean he puts anything less than his entire attention on the meal itself, though. He glances over his shoulder, towards the front door, when he hears it open. “Damn,” is the first thing Will says. “That smells good. What are you making?” He makes his way into the kitchen and slots himself behind Hannibal, hooking his chin over the man’s shoulder.

“Roasted potatoes with rosemary and garlic, and a red wine sauce. I must say, Will, if this alone is enough to whet your appetite, I am somewhat concerned for you.”

Will huffs out a laugh and presses a quick kiss to Hannibal’s cheek. “Alright, jackass. I’m gonna go take a quick shower, about how much longer?”

“Thirty minutes. Make yourself scarce, I need to put the entree in the oven.”

“Yes sir,” Will mutters, vanishing upstairs to do as he has said.

By the time he returns, dressed semi-formally, the beef wellington is out of the oven and cooling on the counter. “Need help setting the table?”

“It would be much appreciated. If you would open the bottle, as well?”

“Yup,” Will fires back, already in the middle of pulling out the cork. “I’ll bring it out with me.” He grabs two glasses to take with him to the small dining table. After a moment, instead of the sound of wine being poured, Hannibal hears soft laughter.

He brings the dishes of cooked greens out with him when he goes to investigate. “Is something the matter?”

“You don’t think you went a little overboard with the flowers?” Will moves behind a chair and crouches, lowering himself to the height he would be if he was sitting. “I can’t even see the other chair.”

It was a valid point. “Possibly,” Hannibal admits. “We can move the vase to the side, I suppose.”

Will moves it. “They’re beautiful, but I don’t want to hold a conversation through a wall of petals.” They return to the kitchen together to make a second and final trip, Will with the silverware and Hannibal the remaining dishes balanced on his arms. Will pours the wine as Hannibal sets the plates down, and then they both sit.

It’s a change from the routine Hannibal had grown used to, one of many. Will has changed him in so many ways, he finds that even now he is still discovering them. “Beef wellington, served with roasted potatoes and wilted greens, alongside a red wine sauce.”

“Beef?” Will asks, an eyebrow raised.

“Beef,” Hannibal confirms.

And that was the biggest change of all, was it not? While they had been here nearly a year, Hannibal has yet to so much as encounter the urge to kill. It could be argued that Will draws flashes of it out of him with some of his more irritating moods, but he has not once even considered the possibility of a hunt. He told himself he simply needed time to get settled in, truly take in the area, and then it would return. Then, he told himself he was distracted, both by Will and the chaos he brings with him. Eventually, he simply accepted that he may be nothing more than content with the way things were.

It will return eventually, that much he knows for certain, and Will seems to be waiting for the moment like a wire coiled with tension. He is not, Hannibal notices, dreading the moment. What he _is_ experiencing, Hannibal cannot know for certain.

Dinner goes wonderfully, and they wash the dishes together before considering dessert. But first- Hannibal had stashed the box holding the knife in a drawer, from which he now extracts it and hands it to Will. The smile Will gives him is crooked. He opens the box gently, eyes widening and then softening at the knife within, pulling it out and flipping it open. His admiration is obvious, and all doubts Hannibal retained about the gift are blown away.

Until, that is, Will’s expression cracks and he starts laughing.

“No, it’s not what you think-” he works out quickly, in between bouts of his laughter. “It’s beautiful, I love it, but hold on a second, wait here-” He takes the knife with him, at least, so he’s not rejecting the gift entirely. Hannibal only realizes the direction Will is headed when he hears the door unlock.

Will is still trembling with laughter when he returns and pushes an object into Hannibal’s hands. “What the hell is wrong with us?”

It’s- for a moment, Hannibal’s brain actually stops working, because the object he has been handed is undeniably a knife. A smooth, dark wooden handle, the blade held safely in a leather sheath. Just under four inches, he estimates, studying the familiar shape of the blade once he has extracted it from the leather. Wickedly sharp, made to last.

The intention is unmistakable. This is in no way a knife meant to be used for cooking.

Something about it is familiar, possibly the faint scent on it, but Will has continued speaking. “Didn’t make the cover, and there was supposed to be another one to go with it but I guess I bit off a bit more than I could chew when I thought of this in the first-”

It’s the same scent Will often wore upon emerging from his workshop, black walnut, a dusting of steel alloy and various types of finish and polish. Carefully but quickly, he returns the knife to its sheath, sets it on the counter, and all but picks Will up and moves him until his back has hit the wall. He’s kissing the man before he can consciously make the decision to do so.

Will’s mouth parts, probably in what was supposed to be another laugh, but Hannibal devours it. All he can taste is dinner- good, but not ideal. Right now, what he wants to taste is nothing more than Will himself. He pulls back, bites down along the man’s jaw. “I take it you like-” The comment is cut short, ends in a gasp instead when Hannibal folds down to his knees. He has the belt unbuckled and the pants unzipped in mere moments. Even so, it still feels like too long. He grabs both the edges of Will’s slacks and boxers, pulling them down together and finally freeing the man.

The sight makes Hannibal salivate. He leans forward and inhales deeply, savouring the familiar scent of the man. Above him, he hears Will’s breathing hitch, and his cock twitches against Hannibal’s cheek as it begins to fill. Impatient, Hannibal sucks Will’s cock into his mouth down to to hilt, letting it rest there as it fully hardens and fills his mouth. “Hannibal, _Jesus-_ ”

It is a sensation he has always enjoyed, the way it chokes down his throat and invades him. The idea that Will has intruded so deeply that his body should reject it, and the fact that he can accept it anyways- together, it is an intoxicating combo. Unfortunately Hannibal is still human, and he soon needs to pull back and allow himself to breathe. He dives back down as soon as he has recovered. 

Small groans of pleasure are slipping out of Will above him and his hips are already twitching forward, trying to thrust even further despite it being impossible. In response, Hannibal sucks hard, pitching a groan higher. “Y-you-” He pulls back again. Will thrusts forward properly now, and in response Hannibal places his hands on the man’s hips and pushes them back against the wall. The message seems to be received, for despite aborted motions otherwise, Will remains still from that point on. 

He moves slowly, preferring to hold the cock in his mouth and admire the taste instead of losing a portion of it in favor of comfort. Eventually, wetness gathers in the back of his throat and he pulls almost completely off, not wanting to waste the chance to properly taste the precum before ejactulation itself. He drinks it down greedily, and Will moans, long and broken. “Hannibal, if you keep that up-”

“Hmm?” Hannibal smiles around Will’s cock wickedly, eyes locked on the column of Will’s throat leading up to where he’s tilted his head back against the wall. The small vibrations the sound creates cause the man to lean his head forwards enough to look down and make eye contact. His face is flushed and his eyes are wide with pleasure but, amusingly, he’s managing to glare at Hannibal. Properly chastised, Hannibal picks up the pace. When he feels Will’s legs start to tremble he pulls back, locks his lips around the head, and sucks as hard as he can.

Will comes with a shout. Even as his legs are buckling and he’s sliding to the ground, Hannibal refuses to let a single drop of semen escape his mouth. Apparently he stays far too long, something he only realized when a hand fists into his hair and physically pulls him off of Will’s dick with a wet pop.

“Not _quite_ the reaction I expected,” Will pants, half a grin on his face. He leans forwards, clearly intending to reciprocate, but Hannibal intercepts him and pulls him forwards, flush against his chest.

“Tell me about the knife,” he murmurs.

“What? Now? What about-” Hannibal grabs the man’s wrist and presses his hand flat against where he is straining against his pants. “Oh. _Oh._ Yeah, uh okay.” Will’s fingers undo the pants easily, opening everything just enough to gain proper access before he slips a hand inside. “Another worker, at the harbor, he does metalworking as a hobby, and a bit of a side job. Mostly blades. It’s where I got the idea. Used his smithy to cast the blade, so don’t think I managed to drag an entire forge in the back room or anything.”

“ _Will.”_ Hannibal bites the man’s shoulder, a small warning.

“Sorry,” Will laughs softly, hand tightening around Hannibal’s cock. He starts to stroke, movements long and slow. “It’s molybdenum high speed steel. Uh, M2 is the classification, I think.”

“You do not know?” Hannibal teases.

“I’m a bit _distracted_ at the moment, sorry.” He squeezes- a warning of his own. “It’s a bit tougher than D2, which is the most common standard. Lets you get a real thin blade you can use for much finer cutting. I have all the equipment to maintain the sharpness of it, in there.”

Will’s hand is burning hot, gradually picking up speed as he speaks. The heat shoots through Hannibal's body, lighting him up from within. “And the handle?”

“Black walnut,” Will answers, voice pitching lower. “Used a waterproofing stain, so no-” Another puff of laughter, and Will drops his head against Hannibal’s shoulder. “No liquids will damage the wood.” 

Hannibal’s breathing is picking up. Will knows exactly how to make him unravel- it’s only fair, he supposes. In this, like everything else, he is relentless. Hannibal feels his body begin to tense.

Will, characteristically, continues talking, voice falling even lower. “The metal- the M2- the group of steel alloys is called high-speed steel. Do you know why?” Will raises his head once more, and when he speaks, it’s barely more than a whisper, right into Hannibal’s ear. “They’re so sharp they can cut anything so quickly you won’t even realize what’s happened until it’s too late.”

It rips Hannibal’s orgasm out of him so quickly that for a moment, he loses all sense of reality. When he returns he is greeted with the sight of Will licking the semen off of his hand, eyes closing in pleasure. He grabs the back of the man’s head and pulls him closer, kissing him much more gently than before.

“Would you like dessert?” Hannibal asks, finally pulling away.

“A second helping?” Will grins. “I’d love it.”

They are eating the actual dessert- a rich black forest cake- when Hannibal speaks up. “I do not believe that is how that variety of steel earned its name, in truth.”

Will snorts. “Of course it isn’t. How the hell would they even have tested that? When it’s used for tools it cuts faster than carbon steel. You didn’t seem to mind the lie, at the time.”

Hannibal pauses. Will is watching him, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I suppose not,” he relents. 

After dessert, Will shows Hannibal the workroom he has created. He can’t help but notice various unfinished pieces of furniture laying around the room- it seems Will has found a more permanent usage for the space, after all.

A week later, Will decides to go somewhere new. 

He would never tell Hannibal this, mostly because he would probably react poorly, but when he goes to clubs more than just the crowds affect him. The more he goes, the more he realizes that the music itself is just as important to the mental state the experience puts him in. It’s curious, something he wants to know more about, and so he has started to do what can only be called experimenting.

The irony is not lost on him, that now he’s the one running reckless experiments on his own mind, while Hannibal would oppose it if given the chance. It doesn’t come close to stopping him. 

Even if it’s inherently dangerous, Will is as careful about it as he can be. He always ducks into new places, sees if the type of music they play is consistent, observes the energy and appearance of the crowds. Truthfully, where he’s going now had been squarely on his ‘do not attend’ list; even for the brief periods of time he had been inside it felt like his thoughts were jarring loose, ricocheting around in his mind at high speed. 

But Hannibal still hasn’t killed anyone, and it’s starting to drive him a little bit insane.

It’s not that he’s unhappy- if anything, he should be _ecstatic_ that the killer has stopped, well, killing. The unfortunate truth is that he simply knows Hannibal too well, and knows that it will never last forever. All he can do is wait for the other shoe to drop and continue to drop incredibly unsubtle hints that he really doesn’t fucking care if Hannibal goes out and slaughters someone in the dead of night, as long as he doesn’t bring the cops back with him.

A year ago, that realization would have shaken him to his very core. Now, it doesn’t even phase him.

The second he steps inside the club he can feel things coming unglued, jumping around to match the staggered beat of the music. Everything about this place is darker, from the lighting to the feeling of the music itself, and when he approaches the floor it feels more like getting sucked into a riptide than entering a soothing ocean. The crowd is, not violent, but more forceful. There is no steady, constant beat underlying everything, instead a looping syncopation that infuses it with a restless sort of energy. Most of what he hears begins patterns of music he is used to and then inverts them, building up to a moment of release that instead drops down and focuses almost entirely on the beat itself. Combined with the much higher tempo, it gives everything a feverish tinge.

At least now, the thoughts pinging off the walls of his skull are sharp drum hits and not a building anxiety. It sinks beneath his skin and sends a dangerous energy running through his veins.

The crowd is far more difficult to manage and in the end, it spits him back out. He welcomes the break, and a quick look around the club shows him that he is far from alone in this. A drink at the bar- something lighter, since he drove tonight- and he can try again.

His head turns towards the opposite end of the bar, something catching his eye- a man taking two drinks from the bartender, pulling a small package out of his pocket and stirring the powder into one of them. Will follows him with his gaze, watching him as he hands the spiked drink to a woman with a smile.

Will downs the drink and slips after them, tailing carefully as they finish the drinks and go back into the crowd themselves. The music is evolving, any sort of a melody becoming more and more of an obligation, the bass becoming heavier and heavier. The transition between songs is getting shorter and shorter. It’s almost as if parts of the music are falling away, discarded as extraneous. If someone shoves against him, he pushes back. He cannot afford to lose sight of the man and his prey.

The deeper sound infects his brain, feeding into a slowly burning anger. It’s consuming him. The couple- at a glance they just seem to be dancing, but the man is leading them somewhere specific- one of the bathrooms, a single standalone stall in the far corner. A place no one goes. A door that can be locked. They are at the edge of the crowd when Will finally catches them. 

By this point, the woman can barely stand. Will reaches out, grabs hold of the man’s arm, and spins them face to face. When their eyes meet, with Will’s defenses down like this- he can see everything fucking thing the man is planning on doing. His grip tightens. The man is irritated, changing gradually into anger, but behind it there hides an opportunity- a spark of interest.

As gently as he can manage, Will pries the man’s hands off the woman, places them on himself instead. Makes his intention as clear as possible- _how about me instead?_

The man assesses him, slides a hand down and behind and grabs a handful of Will’s ass and squeezes. A vicious smile spreads on the man’s face and he pulls Will towards the bathroom, abandoning the girl at the edge of the floor. Someone will see her, and offer help. Will has to hope it will happen. At the very least, he _knows_ he has spared her from this.

He is pulled into the bathroom quite violently, door locked behind them. The man has him against the wall in a flash, face grinding into the dirty tile. “Is this what you wanted?” the would-be rapist growls. “Fucking slut.” The music sheds more of its layers, becoming just a constant looping beat over abstract, floating sounds. A leg is shoved between his own, roughly spreading them. “If we do this fast enough maybe she’ll still be out there when we’re done.”

That’s what does it, in the end. Will pushes back against the wall, throwing the man off balance and sending him stumbling backwards into the toilet. He gets a good grip in the man’s hair, pulls him backwards, and then slams his face against the corner of the toilet tank, over and over until he finally stops screaming.

Will getting back late is not a new occurrence. Often, he will sleep in a guest room despite Hannibal telling him not to, saying he doesn’t want to wake the man. Tonight, however, the door to their bedroom is thrown open, Will staggering forward and climbing into the bed and on top of Hannibal. He only smells faintly of alcohol, but underneath it and the scent of sweat, there is an unmistakable, coppery tang.

It wakes Hannibal up immediately. “Will, what happened-”

“Please,” Will begs, pulling at the covers and sheets between them. “I need you to-”

“Will, tell me what happened. Are you hurt?”

“Use me,” Will breathes, voice cracking. “Hold me down and use me.” The dark makes it difficult to see, but even without the light Hannibal can see the wild look in Will’s eyes. He’s lost himself, it seems, and needs recentering. “It’s _not my blood,_ ” he hisses, finally peeling away the barrier between them. “Please, Hannibal. I need to think of only you.”

A rational, logical part of Hannibal’s brain is telling him that Will is out of his mind, that he couldn’t possibly be in a place to consent, but Will’s words and the scent of blood have short circuited it entirely. “Very well,” Hannibal growls, pushing Will roughly off of the bed. “Kneel, and open your mouth.”

Will scrambles into place, hands waiting neatly on his folded knees. As Hannibal moves, he pulls off his pajama bottoms and sets them to the side, his briefs among them. He sits on the edge of the bed. “Come closer, Will,” he beckons, watching as the man shuffles into place. When he is within reach Hannibal fits a hand into the curls and tugs roughly, guiding that open mouth onto his cock. He isn’t hard- but Will breaks into motion in short order, mouthing at the shaft and coaxing it to full hardness. As soon as the cock hits his tongue his arms fall limp back at his sides and he lets his body go lax.

Hannibal is not gentle. He moves Will up and down his cock with far more force than is needed, relishing the way the man’s throat tightens around him as he chokes around the sudden intrusion. In all honesty, he hates this sort of thing- for him, sex is about the pleasure of everyone involved, and reducing a partner to nothing more than an object like this reduces the appeal greatly. His body and his mind, however, don’t always seem to agree on things. Saliva is slipping out of Will’s mouth as Hannibal fucks it, creating an exaggerated squelching, the sound of which goes straight to his dick. Whatever he gives, Will is accepting.

A particularly rough tug on the man’s hair triggers a rumbling he feels more than hears- _a moan,_ he realizes with a start. _He’s enjoying this._ This time, when he pulls Will’s head back he holds it there, finally notices the way the man’s eyes are resting half-closed, face flushed in pleasure. It draws out a snarl, and Hannibal stands, forcing Will’s back to curve backwards to make room. The position cannot be anything but uncomfortable, bordering on painful, but Will does not move, and Hannibal holds his head in place as he fucks forward in earnest. A whimper escapes Will, accompanied by a sharp scent that makes Hannibal’s mouth water; Will _came_.

Hannibal buries himself deep inside and makes sure every drop of semen shoots straight down the man’s bruised throat as he comes.

He pulls Will off of him immediately, sitting down heavily on the floor, to the side. Will is coughing and gagging, but clarity is slowly returning to his eyes. There should be bottles of water in the drawer- Hannibal keeps them around the house, something that comes in handy now as he hands it off to Will, who gulps it down. “Th-” he tries to speak, but what comes out is scratchy and faded. “Thank you,” he finally croaks. “Can we just- sleep?”

The question sounds normal, but the desperation behind it is obvious. “Very well,” Hannibal allows. “We will speak in the morning.”

Morning brings with it the view of the splatters of blood along Will’s shirt, the patches of it flaking off his hands. Hannibal is gazing at them with unashamed reverence when the object of his affections sits bolt upright in bed. “Oh, fuck,” he whispers. “I left it in the trunk.”

He’s gone before Hannibal can even ask him to elaborate, so he can only pull the pants back on and follow the chaotic line Will has taken through the house, finding him out by his car. The trunk is open, and Will is frowning down at it.

There is a body in the trunk.

Despite himself, Hannibal pinches his own arm, but does not wake up. “Will,” he murmurs, moving to stand next to the man. “What have you done?”

“I, uh, I assumed that would be obvious? I don’t… should I bring it inside or…?”

“It was a cold night,” Hannibal answers. “The meat should be salvageable.”

They work together to bring the corpse inside and lay it on the dining room table. There is fabric wrapped around the head somewhat strangely- Will’s pants, on closer inspection, something he hadn't even realized the man had been lacking. Hannibal begins to unwrap them. “Uh, you might not want to-”

The pants slide free in a torrent of gore and fragments of bone. The head of the body is caved in almost entirely, to the point where chunks of brain are rolling freely onto the table. Hannibal’s nose wrinkles in disgust.

“Look, don’t say I didn’t warn you, alright?”

“I think you should tell me what happened.”

“Um, I made sure to clean everything so uh, it’s fine. Can we talk about this later? After…” He makes some sawing motions with his hands.

Hannibal sighs. “I will take care of it.”

“Show me,” Will says suddenly. “I know I helped with Randall, but… I kind of zoned out then, honestly. I want you to teach me, properly.” He looks up, eyes steely. “Everything.”

All of a sudden, Hannibal’s breath catches in his throat. “Do you truly mean that?”

“Yes.” The word looks like it surprises Will as much as it does Hannibal. “I… I know your nature, always have. It’s time I move beyond simple acceptance.”

It pierces Hannibal, to the core, and he finds himself smiling. “Wash your hands and arms. I do believe I have recently come into possession of a knife quite fitting for this job.”

Will laughs. It feels miraculous, that something like this can even happen. “This was _not_ an intentional second part to your Valentine’s Day gift, alright? Don’t get too conceited.”

“Never.” They stand together, knife parting the flesh of the body, pulling out the organs that will be saved and piling up what will be disposed of. “A curved blade can help in these circumstances, but a knife such as this is more than capable of doing the entire job on its own.”

“I knew I should have finished the hawkbill knife too,” Will mutters under his breath.

At that moment, hands wet with blood and guiding Will’s, Hannibal realizes just how deeply he has fallen in love.

**Author's Note:**

> [INNOCENCE OF SILENCE (CubeHard's Not So Innocent Mix) - nc ft NRG Factory](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_equ8k9PQ_I)


End file.
